Chapter 14: The Mother Crystal

The purpose of evil is to bend goodness back upon itself until it ceases to be good but continues to exist. The attempts of evil to do this have been enacted in many worlds. In all worlds, eventually, evil has defeated itself by going too far, too fast.

Here, the Demiurge had determined, it would be different. Evil would achieve for itself a physical immortality through which to accomplish its purposes: an immortality without interruption, limitation or interference.

He had moved slowly and ever so carefully, content to twist rather than break, to stretch rather than snap. He had influenced many men to search for knowledge beyond the limits of what was morally right. Yet to live his anguished imitation of life through the minds and lives of men was to live by glimpses, limited by the traces of goodness that it was almost impossible to erase from people. It was hard work to corrupt a human being to the place where he was able to fully use it. He had constantly to wrestle for the control of a mind, only to lose the use of that mind to death - the great anti-body of the Creator.

Still he continued to carefully whittle away at people's humanity, through pornography, violence and life-cheapening ideas, until he had people who had little sense of decency and no sense of truth: people who would crusade for rights, while not believing in righteousness; people who were clever, but not wise.

In time, the perfect man was born, a man in whose mind the Demiurge planted an obsession to be immortal, a man to whom the Demiurge revealed the power of world crystals in predicting and shaping the destiny of all things.

The idea grew within the man like a parasite, eating away his sense - not only of what was right and wrong, but all sense of proportion, an obsession that left him as a hollow shell for the Demiurge to live in. The control was not absolute but it was close enough that very little time was wasted on vanities and pleasure.

For long years the man tirelessly searched out veins of crystal through the earth: tracing, following, and looking for the master crystal. He had searched for half his life before he had found the Mother Crystal - the heart of the world. By his learning he knew that every action of man or beast, could be found and predicted within its frozen essence.

The man began to seek out ways to harness and twist the issues of life. He might have had any mortal treasure, any bauble of power, fame or glory. Yet he did not waste his few brief years trying to gain such things; endless life would give him plenty of time for that. Instead, he sought out and forged for himself a peculiar kind of immortality: one that did not easily stand the light of day but that mushroomed in the darkness. It was a strange weaving of crystal and flesh, that neither time nor violence could dissolve.

When he knew that the weaving was ready, the man hesitated. How might it change him to live in that woven body created from tissue of his own flesh and pieces of the Mother Crystal? It was, though he didn't know it, the last traces of conscience that were warning him of the dire consequences awaiting those that flaunt the limits of their creation. But the man was used to giving in to the Demiurge's promptings. When at last he decided to take the step of inhabiting the form, the man actually believed the idea was entirely his own. Such illusions were not necessary after the union was accomplished.

The man entered the form. Everlasting and horrifying was his shock. No longer was he a man, but a plaything of the Demiurge. All the protective barriers and safeguards of his creation had been torn aside. Within this tragic union the residue of his humanity was only an amusing trinket, which the Demiurge occasionally pulled to the surface of his being, to terrify its vestigial awareness with the view of what it had become.

The Demiurge had achieved a horrifying, physical immortality, in which there howled ceaselessly below the surface the submerged pieces of what had been a man.

Yet this immortality had a price; the Demiurge could leave his lair only at great personal risk. The bonding of his united being required that he remain close to the Mother Crystal, which he had made the source of his life, knowledge and power. He could sustain himself away from her presence only with a Child Crystal, worn as a pendant. However, the bond was threatened by this procedure and he was very reluctant to risk it. It could be done, but the risk was absolute, and the abyss was the price of miscalculation.

The Demiurge's power to predict events, bend minds and terrify enemies allowed him to dominate the inhabitants of East Grenwilde. It had been child's play to become the ruler of these lands. Had he not prepared them by destroying their ideas of right and wrong? The terror and fear of him had spread through all the earth. He had been content to grow slowly.

He had created the Power Crystals from the substance of the Mother Crystal: the Crystals of Shaping, Seeing and Speaking. Using them he formed his toys, tools and emissaries.

His early experiments had produced only aborted creatures and idiocy, but he knew the Shaping Crystal would let him warp the fabric of any being. After decades of labour there had come the success of the desigarg.

These creatures were naturally immoral and proud of it: a very useful combination. However, although they were devoid of conscience, they had very limited intelligence. The more intelligence they were allowed, the harder they were to control.

The vulgrath and the nygrath held for him the promise of a more direct control and tyranny.

The graths were embodiments of his thoughts, inflaming and expanding the physical bodies of animals. Some animals only died when made to carry the seed of his mind. Others did not. Rodents, amphibians and reptiles carried the seed well.

So from rodents, most usually bats, he had shaped the vulgraths. These had no will, purpose or thought that was not his own. They had only three limitations. First, they took a week of concentrated thought to mutate. Secondly, they could only be maintained in existence through his concentrated effort. He had never been able to maintain more than five at a time. Finally, their destruction by others caused him great personal pain. Thus it took the Prince of Night forty days to recover from the pyrrhic victory of the Great Wall: five days to recover his mind and thirty-five more to reconstruct his living thoughts.

The nygraths held even greater promise, he believed. Targa Gamarad was his first nygrath, and a very successful mutation he was. Like the vulgrath he was formed by concentrated thought through the Shaping Crystal. Yet he took much longer to form, for not only the toad's body but also his brain had been enlarged and mutated. The nygrath had two advantages over the vulgraths: first, he was maintained by a Child Crystal implanted at the base of his brain. No on-going effort was therefore necessary to maintain his existence, yet his thoughts could be directly shared and shaped by the Prince of Night, by means of the crystals. Furthermore, his brain could be removed and his full experiences relived and examined in depth by his master. Finally, his thoughts were superintended by the impressions and purposes engrained on the Child Crystal by the Prince of Night. He was therefore completely inhuman, aware, cruel and enslaved.

There was one other thing about the toad nygrath; it had been given a small present resting on the top of its brain. A drop of blood. A drop of Royal Blood that burned like fire. For the blood was holy and hateful to all that was evil. The Demiurge never allowed himself to think about how that blood was obtained or from whence it had come. With it he had created two obsessed bloodhounds: Targa Gamarad and the desigarg known as Nagara Diserac. Their eagerness for the blood made Lord Nihilos smile.

It was due largely to their abilities that two humans stood imprisoned in ornamental crystals on the shelves of the Demiurge's lair: the prisoner in the first crystal he had sought to obtain for years, the other he had never dared hope to snare. Only twice, in all worlds and all ages, had he trapped greater prizes in his coils. On those two former occasions his victims had escaped. He knew there were very great dangers in what he planned, but he would move cautiously.

For he had one more nygrath growing and deforming on the Shaping Crystal, and Lord Nihilos' wicked smile grew to hideous proportions at the thought of what this other nygrath would be and what it would accomplish.

a8b

It was the end of their second day on the South Road, and the five travellers had reached a small river - a tributary of the Elb. Everyone was weary so that even though they might have travelled another hour without being in true darkness, they had - by common consent - decided to rest where they were. The stream flowing under the road made it a convenient place to camp, as it would provide them with the means to wash, drink and boil food.

Yason cut wood for the fire while Jaomin took his sling to hunt for rabbits and squirrels. The two women began to build a fire from kindling, brush and the pieces of cut wood, a fire on which to cook. Chion, meanwhile, gurgled softly to himself. He had fussed a great deal this afternoon, but he was happy now propped up on his carrying board near his mother and the warm, fascinating fire. Nina, Princess and the donkey, Pud, were enjoying a well-deserved rest, standing in the shallow stream and drinking. From time to time, Pud sneezed violently - having taken in water down the wrong pipe.

While they worked, Caylene and Regine talked absently about Chion, about building fires, about how silly Pud looked and about their families.

"What kind of family did you have, Regine?" asked Caylene.

"Big, friendly," Regine considered for a moment, "good, I'd say. My dad's kind and my mom, well sometimes she made me crazy but she was a good woman."

"Was?"

"Uh-hm, she died three years ago giving birth to my youngest brother." Regine sat down and began shelling peas.

Caylene shook her head, "I'm sorry, Regine." She looked at the older girl with compassion, but the look slowly changed to anger: "That will never happen to me!"

"Pray that it won't," said Regine looking up. "But you can't predict the future, Caylene,"

"In this case I can. I don't intend to have any children."

Regine laughed.

"Go ahead and laugh, but I mean it."

"I'm not really laughing at you. At least, if I am I'm laughing at myself too. You see I said the same thing myself, just after my mother died. I meant it too!"

"So, what changed your mind?"

"Yason."

This time both girls laughed, but Caylene's good humour faded fast. She sighed and looked down at the fire. She became silent, seemingly intent on breaking up kindling and feeding the fire. Regine eyed her carefully. What kinds of things was she carrying inside? She seemed sad, hurt and angry.

"I love watching a fire," Caylene said.

Something prodded Regine to probe. Don't let her bury it, she thought to herself.

"What was your family like, Caylene?"

Caylene didn't answer right away but sat poking at the fire. Then, quite without warning, she started to cry. This continued for a minute or two. Regine respected her space. Caylene was just stopping and seemed about to speak when Yason came up with a big load of wood. Seeing that Caylene was crying, he stopped where he was, holding the fuel and looking down at her.

"What's wrong?" he ventured.

"Nothing," said Regine. "You go and get enough potatoes out of the cart for supper and start peeling."

Yason shrugged, put down the wood and started for the wagon. "You don't have to hit me with a tree limb," he muttered to himself.

Regine stopped shelling peas and squatted down beside Caylene, putting her arm around her shoulder. "What is it, Caylene?"

The younger girl sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I seem to be doing a lot of crying recently," she said, with evident self- disgust. For a moment the two of them sat by the fire staring out at the small stream. Birds had begun their evening singsong. It was a perfect late spring evening: quiet, clear and beautiful. Chion, however, was gurgling up a storm. His eyes were as big as saucers. He was watching the fire very intently, and trying to communicate with it. His mother smiled at him and then turned her attention back to Caylene.

"Sometimes crying is the best thing for you, but talking about what's bothering you is usually a better solution. Tell me about it, Caylene; if you think you can. Maybe it'll help."

The young girl hesitated, and then began to slowly unfold the story of her past. It wasn't a pleasant story. Her family, she said, was not a happy one. Her father was abusive, her mother was helpless and both were frequently drunk. It had been so bad that just after her fourteenth birthday she had decided to run away. Anything, any place would be better than home, she reasoned. She knew her Aunt Cassy kept an inn at West Ganariel, so that was where she'd headed. She'd never met her Uncle Cadro before; if she had she might have gone elsewhere. As far as Caylene knew, neither of her parents had ever stirred a foot from Rama-gil to look for her. Maybe they had, but she didn't think so. She had told herself she hated them, and perhaps she did. Nevertheless, when news of the destruction of Rama-gil reached her, she had cried for a whole day and night.

As it turned out, her Uncle Cadro was just as abusive as her father. Her Aunt Cassy tried to protect her, but when she did he beat both of them. The day before yesterday had been the last straw. All she had done to offend him was talk to Regine. The two girls had calmed Aunt Cassy down, after the landlady's discovery of the dead thief. She had gone to bed. Then the two girls had fallen to talking, but had not talked long. They had spent perhaps an hour enjoying one another's company, and it had been during a period of time when no one was in the tavern at all. Uncle Cadro had struck her for talking to someone!

As Regine listened to the sordid tale she had a hard time containing her anger. What she wouldn't like to do to 'Uncle Cadro'!

"Where are you going now, dear," said Regine softly.

Caylene shrugged. "I expect that I've worked in an inn long enough to get a similar job based on my experience. I thought I'd look for a place to work and live in Pen Abara Dis. If that doesn't work, I'll go to Dondais."

"Do you know anyone in Pen Abara or Dondais?" said Regine, greatly concerned.

Caylene only shook her head.

"Well, that's crazy. You can't do that."

Caylene looked up directly at her, and the hopelessness in her sweet young face ran through Regine's tender heart like a dagger. "What else can I do? I won't stay with Uncle Cadro any more and I don't have a home," as she spoke her lip began to quiver.

Regine was made of very good stuff. She wasn't one to let the homeless continue in that condition if she could possibly help it. She knew the Runes of Truth, '...he who shelters the destitute lends a roof to his Creator.' Regine smiled suddenly, feeling a great surge of joy, "Yes you do!"

"Huh?" enquired Caylene. "I do what?"

"You do have a home! My home is your home."

Caylene smiled faintly, "I couldn't do that, Regine. I hardly know you. I can't expect you to take me into your home. It wouldn't be right."

"Well, you'll get to know me, then it will be right. What wouldn't be right would be for us to leave you wandering in a war-torn land, penniless and homeless. You need not be afraid, my dear. No one in the home of Jessef Bindaved will ever strike you. I promise you that."

Caylene said nothing, but looked down at the fire.

"Look, Caylene," Regine continued earnestly, "I like you. Yason likes you..." she laughed gently, "Jaomin definitely likes you! You'd have a home, a real home. The Bindaved's are the nicest people you'll ever meet. Besides," here she put her hand under Caylene's chin, raising her face to look into her own, "you can help even the odds! Do you think I want to be the only woman in a house of eight - no, make that nine - men?"

Caylene still hesitated, but returned Regine's gaze steadily.

"You'd be helping me. Really you would."

Suddenly Caylene hugged Regine hard, "Oh, Regine, I'd love to have a home. Do you think everyone else would feel as you do?"

Regine didn't hesitate. She didn't need to, for she knew that Jessef was, if anything, even tenderer hearted than she was. "They will welcome you; I'm certain."

Caylene had no words at all for how she felt, "Thank you, Regine; you are good." The words came earnestly.

"Nonsense," Regine said lightly, "I'm selfish. You'll make my life much easier!"

Fifteen minutes later Jaomin returned with two fat rabbits tied to a stick. The four young people sat around the fire tending the food, holding the baby and laughing at foolish stories. Then with a very good appetite they fell to eating. There's nothing finer than roast rabbit and boiled potatoes, eaten under a star-studded sky. Unless maybe it's a pipe smoked after the meal beside an open fire. While Yason smoked, Jaomin got his lute and played. Singing hymns and songs beneath the stars of Grenwilde! It was hard to believe a war could be going on, while surrounded by such peace.

When Caylene left to gather and feed the horses, Regine took the opportunity to privately tell Yason and Jaomin about her offer to the young girl. Both were surprised but unquestionably pleased as well.

"Well, I've always wanted a sister," said Yason. "'Been kind of jealous that all my brothers have one and all I got was a wife."

Regine landed a punch on his arm for that remark. Yason writhed in mock agony. This earned him a second punch, much harder than the first. Regine was a farm girl and not to be messed with! Yason apologised and got back to his pipe.

"What about you, Jaomin. Are you happy to have another sister?" Regine asked him coyly.

"Huh? Yeah, of course I am," he said defensively.

Regine only laughed.

a8b

That night, beneath a curtain of stars, a young lady was finding sleep nearly impossible.

Could it be? Caylene thought to herself. I've never had a real home. What if they aren't as kind as Regine said? Well, what if they aren't, stupid! She answered herself. Are you any worse off?

Besides, something about Regine and the two boys made her both admire and trust them. It had been so natural for them to sing praises to the Creator. They seemed to slip from silly songs about donkeys and fat birds that couldn't fly, to songs thanking God for his world and his words of truth.

How long had it been since she had thanked her Creator? Caylene couldn't even remember. Well, she hadn't had much to be thankful for, she told herself.

She thought about that. Was it true? Of course, it was true! Her father and uncle had beaten her. Her mother had never cared for her, and even Aunt Cassy had been little more than a friendly stranger.

On the other hand, she reasoned, if I hadn't come to West Ganariel I wouldn't have met Regine. Was it all part of some plan that the Creator had? That was hard for Caylene to believe, why should the Creator care about her?

Yet even as she thought that, a quiet certainty stole deliciously over her. She seemed to herself to be standing on a high mountain looking down on the mixed up course of her life. She saw that her footsteps had been ordered. That she had been destined to come to this place and to meet these people. She didn't know how she knew it, but she did.

Very quietly, so as not to wake the others, Caylene climbed out of her sleeping roll and knelt down, beneath the canopy of jewelled stars which danced over her head. And as she softly, but very sincerely, gave thanks to her Creator for bringing her to these wonderful new friends and for the hope of a home, it seemed as though the stars above her almost sang for joy.

a8b

That very night Jessef dreamt of Nalitha. She was so real it seemed as though it were actually happening. Her beautiful eyes, her dark complexion, her tall stately presence. It wasn't like remembering her but like seeing her. Even in his dream a pang went through him.

He saw her standing beside a lake in what looked to be a mountain valley. She was gazing intently down into the lake, and stood in this attitude for some time. Then as he watched a great winged horse flew down and landed beside the lake. Nalitha turned towards the horse with infinite calm, as if his presence - so startling to Jessef - was completely expected.

She reached out her hand and gently touched the horse's nose, and scratched his head between his ears and eyes. Then she spoke to him, almost as if he were a person, and the horse beat its huge wings and rose off the ground. He disappeared from Jessef's view, for his eyes never left Nalitha.

Then the strangest thing of all happened. For a minute she stood looking up at the sky, then as if becoming aware of a visitor she looked directly at Jessef and smiled. The impression of her gaze was so direct and real he almost called out in his sleep.

Her lips opened and she spoke. It was only one word, and on the hearing of it he instantly awoke.

"Soon."

Jessef sat up and looked about him. What had it meant? Oh, Creator, never could I ask you to take the memory of my wife from me. But shield me from such dreams, my King. Shield me from such dreams.

He lay down and stared at the ceiling for the longest time, holding in his hand the small wooden pendant she had left behind.

a8b

The two knights had made their first encouraging discovery. They didn't need water. At least, they didn't need it to drink. It was his lack of thirst combined with certain reflections about the portals that had led Jaffar to conclude they weren't in a world at all, as such. On the other hand, they didn't know where they were. Furthermore, they still had no idea how to leave.

Knights of the Portal were subject to the laws of any world they entered. Jaffar had reasoned that in any of the low worlds he should experience thirst. This had been so in all his past experiences, for it is part of the laws of the low worlds that its creatures must drink the world's life issue in order to survive.

It is true that in redeemed worlds, and unfallen worlds, the knights were not thirsty. But both Meda and Jaffar were very certain this barren, billowing waste was not a redeemed world, whatever it might be.

The knights had made another discovery as well; the world was not devoid of sound. There was an occasional faint, unidentifiable sound. Was it the strangeness of the place that made it seem eerie? The sound was very odd; it might be wind, but it felt like no wind they had ever encountered before. Even though the world - it was impossible not to think of it as a world - seemed to have no other sound in it, yet it was very hard to attend to.

With no particular purpose, but with prayer in their hearts, the two knights rode on through the endless fields of opaque white fog. For all they knew, they could be riding in circles. They had hope and faith but absolutely no ideas at all.

a8b

The smallest prophetess in Loridan was walking beside the singing forest, humming and picking flowers. She was looking down at her hands and weaving intricate patterns. I need some King's Heart, she was saying to herself. Intent on her work, she continued walking towards the only place in Loridan where they grew. She liked to weave the flowers into chaplets and string them around her head, and the heads of her small companions. Occasionally she even made Cherion wear one.

"Hey, Jenna!" yelled John loudly, rounding the end of the forest at the place where it touched the base of the Hill of Portals. "Come on, let's play Tree Angels. Nerla, Aileron and Joey are going to play."

Jenna looked up and raised her hand to wave in response. And there she froze. On the top of the Hill, as clear as day, she saw Taril.

"Taril!" She yelled, dropping her weaving and beginning to run as quickly as her strong young legs would carry her towards the Hill and John. "Taril!" her musical voice rang out.

John wheeled excitedly around. John was even fonder of Taril than Jenna was, if that's possible. He looked up the Hill, about to call out as well. But where was Taril? He looked all around where he was standing, and across the Hill. No Taril. He turned back to Jenna. As he watched her she was just coming to the end of the forest and was slowing down in the grip of some amazement. She was wearing the most unusual expression, somewhere between bewilderment and astonishment.

"Good game, Jenna. We could call it Fake Knights. Bet we could fool all..." he broke off realising that Jenna was not listening. "Jenna?"

"He was there, John," said Jenna, in a mesmerized tone, pointing to the High Portal, which was perhaps a half-mile off.

No one ever lied in Loridan, so there was no possibility of Jenna doing anything other than reporting what she had seen, "Well, did he go down the far side of the Hill?"

"No," said Jenna, "he was standing perfectly still, like a statue - with one hand up like this." Jenna made a motion as if warding off a blow. "Then it was like this white smoke came up around him and he just...faded away." Jenna looked straight at John, "It was like he faded into this smoke and was gone."